Johnny Come Lately
by Jilly-chan
Summary: Just when Dorothy thinks she's ready to settle down with Quatre, Trowa appears on the scene. (shounen ai is up to the reader's interpretation)


Johnny Come Lately  
by Jilly-chan  
  
(Disclaimer: The GW boys and Dorothy don't belong to   
me. But, tossing them into alternate reality   
situations really makes writing about them   
interesting. Catatonia wrote and sings Johnny Come   
Lately. They're definitely an Indy-pop band that   
channels Dorothy-inspired moments-even romance?)  
  
  
  
/I'm sorry you couldn't make it  
  
The dark veil that I'm wearing can only block so much   
of his paled face and does nothing to cease the   
wailing of the woman next to me. Her tears come out   
dry and wretched. I know she thinks that she cared   
for Trowa Barton, but where was she those two years   
that I knew him?   
  
The minister is speaking about veils. The two sides   
of the veil. I wonder about the two sides of my own   
veil. I'm torn between wanting Trowa back and the   
secret dark joy that he's gone. I feel my carefree   
smirk threatening to cross my own pale features. But   
my countenance is typically fair. Trowa's used to be   
so ruddy and often smudged with dirt from when he   
tended his garden in the fields near our home.   
  
Catherine sobs again, her throat catches in such a   
rush of emotion that the minister almost pauses. Her   
grief makes this service dreadful. I casually hand   
her my unused handkerchief which she takes with a   
greedy rush and hides her face with it.  
  
*Oh well.* I think to myself, I had originally   
intended to lend my handkerchief to Quatre who would   
have stubbornly insisted that he didn't need one and   
who would gratefully accept my offer when he realized   
that I knew him better than he did. But, Quatre had   
surprised me. He wasn't here.  
  
I glance down at the empty seat next to me, one in   
the front rows reserved for family. I think I might   
manage to feel somewhat better if only Quatre had   
come.  
  
/You could have seen him, so weathered and dated  
  
Some of Trowa's co-workers from the office had   
managed to close the business for a few hours to   
attend the funeral. Heero Yuy and Duo Maxwell are   
sitting behind me. Both dressed in the same suits   
they wore to work that morning and would probably   
wear for the remainder of the day.   
  
We were the only people to see Trowa come out of his   
suit. And we're burying him in that suit now, aren't   
we? What are we pretending about Trowa? We should   
have left him in his old white t-shirt and cut off   
shorts that he loved to work in. With the smudges of   
earth fresh on his knees, just as we found him. Just   
as he was.  
  
But-would Heero and Duo recognize Trowa like that?   
No, only us.   
  
For two years he reordered our understanding of   
ourselves and the need we had for nature. And here   
Trowa's returning to his beloved earth, and where are   
you, Quatre?   
  
I'm sure that Quatre didn't come because, quite   
simply, he was never going to be ready to let Trowa   
free again. Losing his childhood friend the first   
time almost tore Quatre's spirit from his delicate   
body. Funny, but it doesn't really bother me anymore  
to think that I was merely a filling fling while he  
waited for Trowa to return. But now that Trowa's   
gone forever?  
  
Quatre should have come, and reality might have   
awaken him to the fact that, somehow, he's the only   
person that I have ever cared for.  
  
/He was a Johnny Come Lately  
  
I had met Quatre at a company party one New Year's   
Eve. He was the only one who could wear a white suit   
to a hedonistic occasion such as this was turning out   
to be, and when I met him I instantly knew why.  
  
He was an angel.  
  
I knew as soon as the thought crossed my mind how   
ridiculous and simple I was putting it. Quatre was   
honest in his cheerful smile and earnest in his   
thoughtful listening. When I was introduced to him,   
he gracefully took my hand, fulfilling his   
gentlemanly duties, and gave me my first kiss. For   
the evening. And after that, I never wanted anyone   
else to kiss me again.   
  
And I wanted to be the only one to ever kiss him.   
  
I'd flirted my way around my grandfather's business   
dating the executives and cruising around the elite   
parties with the vice-presidents. But this copy boy   
on his way up in the world was the person I wanted to   
experience life with. And I'd avoided real life for   
too long.  
  
"Dorothy, is it?" He dropped my hand and studied my   
features with his attentive crystal eyes. Blue, like   
mine. "I'm not too comfortable coming to these   
parties, and it seems like I'm the only one wearing   
white . . ." His ears started to turn pink where   
they weren't covered by blond curls. Blond, like   
mine.   
  
I chuckled politely but honestly. "Mr. Winner, you   
are the only person here who could wear that suit so   
well."  
  
"Oh." He hesitated and recognized my interest. We   
became almost perfect mirrors of each other in looks   
as well as desires. Or close enough that I knew I   
was going to achieve exactly what I wanted, and I   
asked him to marry me six successful months later.  
  
/And I know that you would hate him  
  
My grandfather's money and my preferences were able   
create the cathedral and the organ music that echoed   
up into the floral decorated rafters. Quatre was   
from a family with a small fortune, but he had   
refused to accept his inheritance due to some   
conflict with his father.   
  
I had never guessed what that conflict was over, but   
on what was supposed to be the happiest day of my   
life the answer showed itself.  
  
During the service, Quatre's face had transformed   
from intense joy to overwhelming sadness back to   
glowing cheer. I'd seen all of those expressions   
cross his golden features at one time or another, but   
never in such a thoughtful pattern in such a short   
amount of time. I dully repeated what the priest   
asked of me and watched Quatre's face with   
inquisitive and somewhat nervous glances.  
  
"What is it, love?" I asked him as we stood in front   
of the cathedral and in the garden where we were   
going to receive our family and friends. All of   
Quatre's sisters had filled a good section of the   
guests with a sea of yellow hair. I took his hand   
and imagined creating blond nieces and nephews for   
them.  
  
"Eh?" Quatre turned to look at me, his thoughts were   
drifting directly as his eyes swept across the rising   
sea of faces that poured out of the massive wooden   
doors to greet us. "Someone came who I had never   
expected to see again."  
  
"How wonderful," I hooked myself through the arm that   
I claimed. The surprise that Quatre was feeling was   
a simple explanation to his behavior, but I had never   
expected the initiator of it all.  
  
Quatre was still scanning the faces when we had   
relocated at the reception party. And his secrets   
worried me only until my grandfather took me through   
the first dance of the evening.  
  
/If you'd seen his botanical leanings  
/First prize exhibit and all down to good spirit  
  
We're lowering his coffin into the ground. It's a   
quiet country graveyard with a few trees sheltering   
the borders. A grey day with a humid breeze as if   
all the world is mourning our loss and touching us   
with faint comforting kisses. Tear drops of rain   
caress the ground where we're leaving him.  
  
Trowa belonged here as much as he belonged with us.   
I slide a finger over my nose, the veil rubbing   
across my skin like tears never would. No one's   
death has made me cry. And Trowa's death would be   
least of all, he belonged in the dirt. His touch   
shaped the earth, and the earth had molded him. He   
had sprung up from the ground the day of our wedding,   
and now he returns to it on the eve of our divorce.   
  
I'm surprised how easily I can think that word. But   
if Quatre ever whispered its actuality out loud? I   
might as well join Trowa.   
  
/He was a Johnny Come Lately   
/And I know that you would hate me  
  
As Quatre twirled me with an exuberant dance of his   
tangled feet, I laugh. The guests moved around us in   
a blur of colors, but the two of us were the only   
ones wearing white today. The color that suited   
Quatre best. And now I could wear it as well.  
  
And as suddenly as he stole my heart, Quatre caught   
me up short and held me by my shoulders pressed up   
against him. But it wasn't so much an embrace as it   
was his power to pick me up and move me where he   
wanted to put me. And only Quatre could have such   
control over my body.  
  
He took a step back and held me at arms length   
studying me face as intently as he had when we first   
met. "I love you, Dorothy." He said, then,   
instantly letting me go, he stepped around me to meet   
someone beyond where I was standing.  
  
I turned with the sense that dread was to enter our   
new life on that very first day. Quatre had quickly   
walked over to the edge of the dance floor and had   
embraced someone else. Someone who held my husband by   
the shoulders as surely as he had a hold of me.  
  
My world froze and I hated someone. I was sure of   
it. This stranger was tall and slender-which was   
accentuated by the dark brown suit he wore. From top   
to bottom, this man was the human embodiment of   
general creation.   
  
I took a step toward them, when the picture changed.   
Quatre was in control again and pulling this newcomer   
by one hand toward me. The cosmos of my world began   
to crash in on itself as this new life re-ordered   
what was natural for us.  
  
"Dorothy-love," he called me, "Come meet my dear   
friend, Trowa Barton."  
  
"Trowa." I nodded then tilted my head to one side.   
My universe recovered her strength after the initial   
shock and I coyly extended my arm in greeting. I had   
spent most of my time as a predator, before I had met   
Quatre. I knew the rules of this game and I could   
play them before this Trowa Barton, because I had   
already won the challenge.  
  
His grass colored eyes narrowed slightly, and he   
accepted my handshake. But he didn't release my hand   
either.   
  
"Do you mind if we dance?" Trowa turned his head to   
ask Quatre. The solemn voice that passed through his   
lips suggested that every word he spoke was weighted   
with the utmost importance.  
  
"Of course," Quatre's eyes crinkled in an unconcerned   
smile. "I'm so glad you could come. I truly am.   
And I'd love for you to meet my Dorothy."  
  
*my Dorothy* I was instantly relieved and instantly   
infuriated as my old personality had been revived to   
confront this newcomer.  
  
Trowa's browned hand settled dark against the white   
folds of my dress and we moved away from our common   
interest and toward the center of the ocean of   
dancers. If I was space and he was terrestrial, then   
Quatre's ocean was our only compromise from a   
completely clashing war of the spheres.  
  
"Do you love him, Dorothy?" He asked leading the   
dance with a subtle shift in his shoulders.  
  
"Most naturally." I smiled. The darker-side of my   
personality leaking out at every moment. Quatre was   
the only patch to keep the violence of my emptiness   
filled.  
  
"To love Quatre is natural." Trowa stated and my   
subtle resistance to his direction unwillingly bent   
with his guiding movements.  
  
"You have?" I cruelly tease.  
  
"I do." He answered.  
  
Unsurprised, I continue to poke into his heart for   
information. "So where have you been then, Trowa,   
darling?"  
  
"Gardening."  
  
/If I envied the things that he spoke of  
/How I envied the things that he thought of  
  
Against my wishes, our honeymoon was postponed   
because of Trowa's unexpected and special visit.   
Quatre respected me, but somehow he managed to make   
me understand how important staying would be. And,   
somehow, I would do anything for Quatre. Even if it   
meant that inside me--my darkness was destroying all   
the bright stars that Quatre had fostered.  
  
And the postponed honeymoon turned into a new   
gardener. Because he was in-between jobs and homes,  
Trowa now lived above the garage in a pleasant   
apartment that Quatre had furnished for him. But I   
grew restless.  
  
"Quatre, love," I would whisper in bed. "When will   
we be alone? Simply to enjoy each other? What do   
you owe Trowa for him to stay here all of the time?"  
  
But my angel was sleeping when I asked these things   
and, if he ever heard, he never answered.  
  
Often, Trowa would be up early and in the kitchen.   
Cooking. The smell of sweetened toast and strong   
coffee would drift into the common dining area where   
Quatre would read his paper and drink tea. I sat at   
the opposite end of our table and felt horribly   
disconnected from my lover as Trowa's simple presence   
wafted in and out and around us.  
  
And I had no knowledge of their past. Had they been   
lovers or only friends? Had Trowa simply leached   
off of Quatre's revitalizing spirit? Had this been   
connected to Quatre's disinheritance? And why? Why   
now had Trowa returned? Why now that I had finally   
found someone to make my spirit sparkle brightly did   
someone antagonize my sinister secrets?  
  
/He was a Johnny Come Lately  
  
And when I submitted to let my ominous intentions   
loose, I directed all of my hateful asteroids loose   
as far away from Quatre as I could.  
  
Trowa was only in the house for breakfast, and he   
spent his mornings overseeing the mechanics in   
Quatre's branch of my grandfather's business. Not   
only did this free loafer need a place to stay near   
Quatre, he wanted to work with Quatre as well.  
  
But in the afternoon, Trowa was always in the far   
corner of our spacious back lawn where he had begun a   
modest garden. It was lined with flowers at one end   
and, as one walked along the long edge, it blossomed   
into a fruitful variety of greens and other   
vegetables.  
  
"Are you finally going to leave once these are ready   
to harvest?" I asked the kneeling form who was   
weeding the radishes. I wore a drooping straw hat to   
prevent the sun from touching my white skin. As a   
result I had to keep my head tilted back with an   
arrogant air to see the object of my abhorrence.   
  
"Perhaps, I will." Trowa didn't look up at me. He   
continued, "I should stay until everything is well   
rooted."  
  
"How long will that take?" I asked the venom   
dripping strongly with each word. "Look at me!" I   
hissed through tight lips. "Why are you here? Where   
were you before, eh? Why now?"  
  
Trowa leaned back still sitting on his knees in the   
dirt. He wiped a dirty arm against a sweaty   
forehead. The movement didn't change his appearance,   
what had been a white t-shirt was irreversibly   
stained many times over.  
  
"Quatre and I have been friends since childhood."   
Trowa began. And then stopped as if he didn't want   
to begin there. "He's different around you than with   
anyone else, Dorothy. But, don't imagine that he's   
the solid angel that he appears to be. He needs you   
to be strong for him, but he's spending all of his   
time trying to repair your soul."  
  
"What?!?" I shout, but the word comes out harshly   
soft. "And you think that you're here to patch   
Quatre up?" I threw my head back and laughed, but   
the broad brim of my hat didn't let the sun   
illuminate me. I was still coolly covered over with   
shadows. "I can care for Quatre alone. You haven't   
let us have a moment's peace since our wedding day!   
Pack up and leave, Trowa Barton. You aren't wanted   
here."  
  
/And I know that you would hate me  
  
They lowered him down and buried him. Trowa's going   
to fertilize this small corner of lonely flowerbeds   
for the dead. Without his constant approval of our   
small family, will our relationship wither?  
  
I look around the grievers. Trowa had no family   
besides Catherine, and she has crumbled under the   
tender words of the minister. I'm distanced and   
beyond them. Heero and Duo have left flowers and   
drove off in the company car. The household staff   
from our home is standing still and somber with grey   
faces to match the atmosphere. Somehow, they all   
came to love the quiet gardener.   
  
Even I had come. And I had little reason to love   
him.  
  
Where are you, Quatre?  
  
/If I told you that I made some time and stayed   
/behind  
/To find out how to make a garden grow  
  
Trowa didn't leave after I confronted him. In fact,   
he continued to act as if nothing had been said   
between us. He always pretended that we didn't have   
hostile conversations. Not that we displayed any   
false pretenses to enjoy each other's company.  
  
But what was mine was mine, and Trowa never stepped   
out of the breakfast kitchen to claim Quatre beyond   
letting his soiled smells permeate our mansion.  
  
For that, my irritation bore a small amount of   
gratitude.  
  
And I couldn't help but notice that I almost spoke   
more to Trowa than with my own Quatre. He would sit   
reading in the library. Lounged in a crimson   
recliner that he pulled closer to the warming flames   
in the fireplace.   
  
At first, I would follow him there and kneel by his   
side, nervously glancing at the pages of the book   
which I was unable to see clearly enough to read   
myself. He never said anything then, but let one of   
his hands rest over top of mine until he needed it to   
turn the next page. Then I decided that this time   
was when I'd let Quatre sit alone. Not even Trowa's   
earthy aromas trailed Quatre there.   
  
I simply walked past the open door and saw the lights   
of the fire flash over his reading glasses as if   
Quatre's spirit blazed inside his motionless form with   
the same intense speed and heat.  
  
Quatre's smiles were everywhere but in this one room.   
The room where he escaped me. The room where I   
realized that Trowa might just be right. Quatre   
wasn't indefatigable.  
  
/Where the sun no longer shines  
  
I tried to think only of our happy moments, and there   
were many. But when Quatre left to quietly read in   
the library, I could hardly remember our candle lit   
dinners, our joking games in the swimming pool, and   
our quiet conversations watching the stars from the   
front porch.  
  
I knew I loved him. I had asked him to marry me.   
But I suddenly doubted my angel.   
  
/If I asked too many questions and stayed behind  
/To find out how to make a garden grow  
/But he never ever gave away the secret of this   
/godforsaken soil  
  
"Trowa?" I called up the staircase of the garage,   
knowing that the interloper was in his apartment and   
afraid that he wouldn't answer me.  
  
"Yes, Dorothy?" He opened the door and the glow from   
the room made him a dark imposing figure. I hated   
admitting that I was scared and the only person I   
thought I could talk to was my rival.  
  
"He doesn't love me, does he?" I ask, every   
vulnerable bit that Quatre created in me exposed from   
under the aggressive shell.  
  
"I don't know." Trowa didn't move from the doorway   
and I didn't move from the bottom of the stairs.  
  
Whatever I had expected him to say, I didn't want to   
hear this. My memories of happiness were lost and   
all I had was this aching sensation that I had been   
missing the real Quatre all along.   
  
"How can I make him love me, Trowa?" My weaknesses   
falling across the floor like limp begging dolls   
asking for Trowa to pick them up and set them   
properly.   
  
"I don't know." Trowa stepped back into his   
apartment and began to close the door. "Go back to   
him."  
  
/He didn't need us, just tempted and teased us  
/You could've been here, wishing you were here  
  
I'm driving home. I always loved to drive in the   
country and often I surrendered the pilot's seat to   
Quatre just so that the two of us could roam through   
the deserted roads with the windows rolled down and   
the fresh air revitalizing our laughter.  
  
The gravel would kick up waves of dust if we drove   
fast enough and the choking sensation made us cough   
until we had to stop and with tears running down our   
faces he would entwine his fingers with mine and   
smile. Stopping was the best part, but it only came   
after a painful breakneck pace forced us to stop for   
a minute.  
  
I forced my car to travel faster than it should with   
any safety. The windows firmly up and my knuckles   
whitening even more with my frustration increasing in   
accordance with the car's acceleration.  
  
Nothing was better. Nothing had changed. Except,   
now, Trowa was gone. Finally gone. And my life was   
going to be the next fatality if Quatre was gone   
forever as well.  
  
/This was a Johnny Come Lately   
/And I know that you would hate me  
  
As I left Trowa's apartment, I was sure, as my eyes   
were sore with dry tears than never came, that Trowa   
was simply trying to outlast me. He came for the   
wedding to see who had moved in on Quatre during some   
sort of forced separation. He nuzzled in on our life   
first by his reunion spoiling our never-happened   
honeymoon and by inhabiting our garage. No wonder   
Quatre was growing ever distant from me. My mirror   
reflection, my perfect match, was being slowly eroded   
away by Trowa's endurance.   
  
/He was a Johnny Come Lately  
/And I know that you would hate me  
  
As I left Trowa's graveside, I was sure, as I sped   
along the roads to my home, that Trowa was simply   
trying to see us get a healthy start. But we had   
resisted. I had hated him. And then Quatre had   
hated me. And somehow, whatever Quatre had loved   
about Trowa hadn't been what came between us. And   
whatever Quatre loved about Trowa had surely been   
buried in that tomb. Never to come back.   
  
/If I told you that I made some time and stayed   
/behind  
/To find out how to make a garden grow  
/Where the sun no longer shines  
  
And I had never learned how Trowa could help us,   
because as quickly as he had died I had only realized   
his hope for us. Not just his hope for you. He just   
didn't understand me as well to say more.  
  
The mansion is abandoned. The servants and staff are   
gone for the day, mourning someone I never took the   
time to appreciate. I know they liked his small   
smile and quick wit. But I'd only seen it as a   
dangerous threat to losing my angel.  
  
I had hated Trowa, and now I would simply never have   
the chance to change that. Except, instead of hating   
him now when I've lost Quatre, I wish he'd come back.   
I wish I could ask him where he thought Quatre might   
have gone. Where Quatre would go if he had lost   
someone that he loved.   
  
Would Quatre come back? And how long would he morn   
for Trowa? I wonder as a week passes. I've begun to   
sit in his crimson chair by the fire while curled   
into a small ball. I thumb through the books he had   
set out to read, but I'm uninterested in them. What   
they could tell me about Quatre, I'd rather learn   
from my angel himself.  
  
The garden was slowly over growing. When one of the   
groundskeepers pointed that out, I immediately rushed   
out to it and began pulling at the invading, useless   
plants that hoped to choke out what Trowa had   
planted. I worked mindlessly for hours when I   
collapsed in the surrounding grass and the sun's   
harsh touch burned my bare skin.   
  
It accused me of Trowa's death and Quatre's absence.   
  
/He assured me that the seeds you sold were sound  
/But I must have cast them all on stony ground  
/And now the sun won't shine  
  
Quatre's affections were the prize that I was hoping   
to collect since I first met him at the New Year's   
Eve party. We had stood on the veranda and Quatre   
had talked about the stars and space and how he loved   
to watch them. And I listened, sure that he was   
talking about me.   
  
It always seemed that way. As if everything Quatre   
said or did was focused around me and the happiness   
he sought out in my company.   
  
And now he was gone. And I hadn't pulled through for   
him. And now Trowa was gone, and the one person who   
was more concerned for Quatre than himself had left   
me to tend the garden. Completely unprepared for the   
sorrow.  
  
/I must have asked too many questions  
  
He must not have wanted to leave me without some sort   
of answer other that "I don't know." Because, Trowa   
sought me out the next morning. He held his coffee   
between two sturdy hands that would nurse the garden   
later as he nursed his caffeine now.  
  
"I was alone for a long time." Trowa began. "I was   
a quiet boy who had a lot of difficult circumstances   
to live with." Somehow, his tone alone made me   
listen quietly even though I had been furious with   
him the night before. "I met Quatre when I was   
eleven. My foster parents were relieved that I had   
finally found a nice friend and actually encouraged   
me spending most of the daylight hours over at his   
house. He was my best friend and the affection that   
grew between us was unlike anything anyone had shared   
with me before.  
  
"Quatre himself needed some attention, his sisters   
were all grown and moved away. His father kept tight   
reins on all of his children, but he was never around   
to make them loving restrictions.   
  
"We so desperately needed each other that we became   
exclusive playmates and spent most of our time hiding   
from anyone else. This went on for years. We would   
play music or games, read to each other, and stay up   
late having conversation about how to sort out our   
troubled lives. We were closer than brothers."   
Trowa sighed, the past distanced enough from him that   
he could almost accept it. "But while my family was   
glad to have an obedient out-of-the-way son, Mr.   
Winner was disgusted with our outward signs of   
affection. We were only teenagers. Mr. Winner   
called separating us preventative."  
  
Trowa was staring intently into his cup as if he   
could see a reflection of their younger selves.  
  
"Worse that the prevention was the misconception of   
our friendship that it forged. Who knows what might   
have developed between Quatre and I, but he was sent   
away.  
  
"And I felt the deepest loss of all."  
  
/And stayed behind to find out how to make a garden   
/grow  
  
"And I knew what it meant to love someone and   
completely lose them."  
  
I waited for him to continue. I had nothing to say   
to him. What could I say to something like that   
anyway?  
  
"In the process," Trowa continued, "I learned how to   
live again. How to start over, to begin again, and   
my love of gardens reminded me of Quatre's sweet   
friendship. He had taken what was dark in me and   
taught it how to grow light. Quatre had taught me   
what it meant to learn from tragedy and to continue.   
Sometimes it takes a disaster to appreciate love for   
ourselves."  
  
"Don't wait for a tragedy to repair your soul."  
  
"Don't wait for a tragedy to learn how to love him."  
  
"He's wanting to love you."  
  
/But he never ever gave away the secret of this   
/godforsaken soil  
  
Then Trowa started back to his apartment. And died.   
It was a complete accident. Unexpected.   
  
I didn't know how to tell Quatre given how intimate   
they had been in their youth. He would hate me. He   
would hate Trowa for dying. I had finally realized   
exactly how fragile Quatre could be. He would blame   
himself for not having the apartment construction   
investigated. He could never have predicted the   
leaking gas.  
  
It seemed completely meaningless to me.  
  
And I was left. Alone. My bed was empty at night and  
I crept into the library to sleep in that red chair.   
It was the only place left in the house where I could   
sense Quatre anymore.   
  
"You're still here?" I imagine I hear him say to me.   
"I thought you would leave."  
  
"How can I? I miss you. I miss Trowa, darn him. He   
reminded me of you. He won't let me forget."  
  
I'm sure I'm dreaming when I hear him say, "I think I   
miss you, Dorothy. I can't lose anyone again."  
  
"I think the garden is dying."  
  
He chuckles softly. The echoed sound of heavenly   
bells. "We may learn how to mend it. Together."  
  
  
***  
Johnny Come Lately  
***  
  
I'm sorry you couldn't make it  
You could have seen him, so weathered and dated  
He was a Johnny Come Lately  
And I know that you would hate him  
  
If you'd seen his botanical leanings  
First prize exhibit and all down to good spirit  
He was a Johnny Come Lately   
And I know that you would hate me  
  
If I envied the things that he spoke of  
How I envied the things that he thought of  
He was a Johnny Come Lately  
And I know that you would hate me  
  
If I told you that I made some time and stayed behind  
To find out how to make a garden grow  
Where the sun no longer shines  
  
If I asked too many questions and stayed behind  
To find out how to make a garden grow  
But he never ever gave away the secret of this   
godforsaken soil  
  
He didn't need us, just tempted and teased us  
You could've been here, wishing you were here  
This was a Johnny Come Lately   
And I know that you would hate me  
He was a Johnny Come Lately  
And I know that you would hate me  
  
If I told you that I made some time and stayed behind  
To find out how to make a garden grow  
Where the sun no longer shines  
  
He assured me that the seeds you sold were sound  
But I must have cast them all on stony ground  
And now the sun won't shine  
  
I must have asked too many questions  
And stayed behind to find out how to make a garden   
grow  
  
But he never ever gave away the secret of this   
godforsaken soil  
  
  
  
The end.  
  
(Well, I haven't tried to romantically tie anyone up   
this much before. Any comments? Suggestions? Want   
to ask why I'm in a Dorothy-phase? You can find me   
at either stormy812@hotmail.com or I like to post at   
Lt. Noin's Guide to Gundam Wing where I hide all my   
fanfics: http://www.ltnoinsguidetogw.mainpage.net)  



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